


Final Freedom

by prototyping



Category: Tales of the Abyss
Genre: Angst, Drama, Family, Family Feels, Gen, Mother-Son Relationship, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-03
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2018-02-24 00:08:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2560781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prototyping/pseuds/prototyping
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before leaving for Eldrant, Luke visits his mother one last time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Final Freedom

“…Master Luke? Do you need anything?”

He started out of his daze, spine instinctively going rigid and upright as he looked around. One of the younger maids was staring at him, her expression expectant but puzzled.

“What? Oh… no.” He lacked the strength for a dismissive gesture, but there was no need: obediently, she bowed and excused herself after a hesitant pause, leaving him to himself again. That was the third maid to have inquired about his standing where he was, and Luke couldn’t blame them. He’d been fixed to the spot for what he figured was about a quarter of an hour now, staring determinedly at the closed door just a few inches before his nose. More than once his hand had twitched or even begun to rise towards the brass knob, only to fall still again as he continued his inward struggle with doubt.

_She’ll know,_ he kept telling himself. _She’ll see it in my face. I don’t want that._

He _did_ want to see her, though. Or he needed to, rather, even if it was briefly.

Would she hate him for it? he wondered. Would she look back on this afterwards and see it as selfish on his part? Or would she be more devastated if he left with only his usual goodbye, never giving her a chance to even suspect that something was wrong?

This was the train of thought that had left him paralyzed for the last fifteen minutes. Personal want wrestled with compassion while he only looked on, partly hoping that the matter would resolve itself and some unseen force would grace him with an answer. Unfortunately, no such miracle came, and Luke was left alone with his dilemma.

He held back a sigh, fearing it might be heard through the door, and instead turned his hand over to gaze at his palm. Even now, his fonons would be struggling just to stay together; he was dying with every second that he stood here.

“Begging your pardon, Master Luke,” a voice spoke up behind him, and he turned to see another maid approaching with a laden tray. Recognizing his mother’s medicine, he frowned as he stepped aside to let her by.

“Is Mother ill again?”

She stopped before the door, her polite smile faltering a bit. “Madame is bedridden with a light fever, but she is faring much better than previously.” The tray jostled as she suddenly bowed her head. “I imagine she is well enough to receive you, Master Luke, if you desire to speak with her. Shall I ask?”

The news moved something inside him, and for a moment he held the maid’s gaze. Finally, somewhat heavily, he nodded. “…Yes.” There was no point to _asking_ , of course, because his mother would never miss a chance to see him, especially with all the time he’d spent outside the manor lately.

Bowing once more in acknowledgement, the maid turned aside and opened the door with a click that echoed inside Luke’s head; she disappeared inside it and he heard a brief exchange of voices before she returned. “Please enter, Master Luke.”

Luke did so, and a part of him immediately regretted his choice when his eyes found his mother’s face. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she was a little paler than usual, but he recognized the smile on her light lips – a fond smile that only he had ever seemed to earn, he suddenly realized.

“Luke,” she greeted warmly, extending her arms as he approached. “I thought you had already left.”

He took her hands in his – they were too cool – and gave an apologetic smile in return. “I didn’t mean to bother you, Mother. I just wanted to say goodbye before…”

Some color seemed to return to her cheeks as she glowed, and she thankfully either missed or mistook the touch of sadness in his words in the midst of it. “Thank you, dear. And don’t be silly, you’re never intruding.” Luke’s smile turned sheepish. Having placed the tray on the bedside table, the maid excused herself, and the click of the door announcing her exit sounded strangely final, almost empty. “Oh, Luke,” said Suzanne with an affectionate squeeze of his fingers, “His Grace and I are so proud of you. Everything you’ve done for Kimlasca, for everyone, and looking after Natalia – being made viscount,” she added, pride in her words and beaming smile. Reaching up, she touched his cheek, and Luke unconsciously moved a little closer. “You’ve grown up so fast…” Her hand fell away again. “You must be tired by now of your mother fussing over you so much.”

“No,” he said quickly with a shake of his head, “it’s not fussing. You’re… worried. About me.” He hesitated, but she’d caught his tone.

“Luke, dear?” she wondered, concerned, and his eyes dropped.

“…Mother…” Trailing off, he winced slightly. He’d been afraid for so long of bringing this matter to light – he could have gladly gone to die without asking, keeping his doubts and only hoping that he was wrong in what he guessed; yet, if she truly didn’t love him for him, wasn’t it better to know now, when he had little to lose but his dwindling time? If she did reject him, he figured, maybe that would make his death march all the easier. “…Mother,” he ventured finally, gaze still uneasily downcast, “…don’t you… I’m a replica,” he blurted. Every scolding from Tear and Guy and every heard-learned lesson in the last few months was gone from his mind – he was encroaching on emotional, wanting to know but at the same time terrified of the truth, dreading the possibility that the one who had been there for him the longest, whom he might well have loved the most, saw him as nothing more than a thief of her love and only put up with him now because she pitied him. Luke felt suddenly and horribly vulnerable, as helplessly subject to everything around him as he must have been at ten years old – or a few months, rather, in his case. “Asch is your real son, the real heir of the Fabre House, and I—” He had to stop and force himself to slow down, not meeting her eyes the entire time. “I understand… if…” His mind blanked on the right words and he silently cursed, but then suddenly Suzanne released his hands, and his heart sank in the instant before she touched his cheek again.

“Luke.” Her voice was stronger than usual, surprisingly firm, and he immediately stopped struggling to talk and looked at her. She smoothed his shirt collar using her other hand, resting her palm against his chest once she finished and staring up at him earnestly. “You’re my son as much as one has right to be. You, and Luke – Asch – whatever you call yourselves and whatever you do, you’re both dear to me. So, please… don’t ever suggest that I would have the heart to – to choose between you, or some nonsense.” Luke clung to her words like a dying man to life, wanting with all his heart to believe them and compelled to do so at the sight of her expression. “I don’t love you for your name, Luke,” she went on softly, smiling. “I love you for being my son, and that’s who you are.”

His friends had insisted that he was more than just a replica, that they liked him for him and that _he wasn’t Asch_ – but coming from the woman he called his mother, it seemed so much more believable, and he didn’t doubt her for a second. Slowly, his legs gave way until he was kneeling on the ground in front of her. She took his face gingerly in her long hands and Luke closed his eyes, focusing on her touch and breathing her in and noticing everything that he had grown accustomed to about her, the little things like her faint perfume and the comfortable warmth of her skin; he moved slightly closer and didn’t resist when she eased him closer still, but dropped his head into her lap with an enormously relieving sense of letting go, everything tense in him relaxing as he released a long, shaky breath. She accepted him. By some stroke of merciful fortune, she did.

“Luke… I had no idea this was bothering you so much.” She stroked and smoothed his hair with gentle movements. “You might think you’re too old, but you can always talk to me. Especially if you’re upset.”

Luke turned aside, resting his cheek against her dress, and Suzanne tucked his hair behind his ear before continuing her previous motions. _…I’ve taken her for granted,_ he realized. _All my life… I never really cared when she worried about me, and why… why did I only go to her when I_ wanted _something? And then I’d get angry if I couldn’t have my way…_ He dropped his eyes, irritated and ashamed.

“Once you return from your journey,” she was saying, “you’ll have to finally tell me everything you’ve seen, everywhere you’ve been… His Grace will likely be sent to Malkuth to meet with the head families; I plan on accompanying him if the season permits it, but perhaps you could come along, as well?” She laughed softly. “I’m afraid I would be lost in a city rumored to be as large as Grand Chokmah, guide or no. Perhaps you could give me a tour if you had the time.”

His eyes began to sting threateningly and Luke quickly blinked. Not now. _Not now._ “…Y-Yeah,” he managed, somehow keeping the emotion at bay, “I’d like that, Mother.”

Suzanne paused, and he felt her lean a little to look at him. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” he repeated quickly. “I was… just thinking… I remember how I used to sit next to you like this and listen to you talk or tell me stories.”

She gave a warm “ah” of recognition. “Yes, you were always right behind me whenever you weren’t with Guy.” Her hand returned to his hair. “Do you remember how shy you used to be? Whenever the military leaders came to see His Grace, you would always run and hide behind me; Commander Goldberg kept apologizing,” she chuckled, “thinking he had startled you.”

Luke smiled faintly and shook his head. “I don’t remember. Sorry.” Looking back now, it made sense that so much of that time was a blank – for him, trying to remember events from eight years ago was probably like a normal person trying to recall when he had been a baby.

“And now here you are, almost grown, when all of that seems like only yesterday.”

“…I’m eighteen,” he objected, raising his chin a bit. _More or less._ “That’s grown.”

“You’ve certainly done enough to call yourself an adult, haven’t you?” Suzanne admitted.

“Some places say eighteen is an adult,” he muttered. “Who decided on twenty, anyway?”

“That’s how it’s been since your forefathers, Luke. If you dislike it all that much, perhaps you can change it one day.” She covered his hand. “But I think you’ll see it differently when you have a son of your own.”

Luke’s neutral expression flickered back towards grim. Suddenly he felt her begin to rub his back, and for some reason that was the final straw that nearly broke him completely. Straightening up, he quickly drew back, already knowing he wouldn’t be able to completely mask himself – but he tried, and grinned up at her. It had never hurt so much to smile. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.” He glanced at the clock. “I guess… I should get going. Everyone’s probably waiting.”

As he stood up, his mother gently caught his hands and held them, making him stare. Her smile was gone, replaced by a serious, searching look that Luke immediately knew was meant to see through to what he was hiding. “…Luke…”

Guilt stabbed at him. “…Yes?”

“What are you not telling me?”

He couldn’t help wincing at the blunt question, but made another attempt to cover it all the same. “Nothing,” he tried, and nearly flinched again. It sounded so fake that even he didn’t believe it. Suzanne frowned and Luke did the same, wavering, but he couldn’t bring himself to admit his troubles. “…I just… don’t want to let you down,” he said finally, which wasn’t a lie, even if it wasn’t what she had technically asked. He held his expression as she blinked – and then, suddenly but slowly, she went to stand, surprising him. “Mother—”

Maybe it was just the effect of seeing her move from her bed, but she seemed stronger, or at least less ill, as she cupped his face in gentle hands and looked fondly up at him. “…You could never disappoint us.” Her voice was still soft, but Luke recognized it as being solid in its own way. The closest, probably, he’d ever seen her come to _strict_. It made him smile – not sadly, not forcefully, but truly, because even she wouldn’t stand for seeing him wallow in doubt – which made her smile in turn. “Do what you must, Luke, and then come home. Both of you.”

“…Yes, Mother.” Oddly enough, it wasn’t as difficult to say that as Luke would have imagined. It still hurt to think this was the last time he would see her, but the circumstances were as good as he could ask for. He wanted to see her smiling and happy; it was a comfort, even if it didn’t change anything.

He leaned forward so she could kiss his forehead, and then waited until she was seated again to take his leave. Once he was outside and had shut the bedroom door behind himself, Luke hesitated, breathing deep.

For the life of him, he couldn’t imagine how Asch did it.


End file.
